Riding in my backpack
chattering gibberish
she charms the man
who is in a good mood
so he repairs my typewriter
     on the spot, no waiting,
     for two six-packs of Bud.
He throws in a free ribbon, too.
“Don’t tell Boss,” he says, winking
at my daughter, who is as yet
too innocent
of her power.

It's raining
and I see Yiska
in the assembly hall
after lunch

other kids are there
in groups or walking
utterly bored
a few prefects

wander about
on the look out
I go stand beside her
I hate the rain

she says
means we're stuck in
all break then
more boring lessons

the corridors
are packed too
kids passing
back and forth

teachers on
their way places
I say
she stares out

at the rain falling
can see you and talk
but that's it
too many eyes

to do anything else
she says
and the gym's
got kids in it

doing things on the ropes
and mats
keeping fit freaks
I see channels

of rain running
down the window pane
so close yet
so far

I say
meaning?
she says
both here close

but far from doing
anything
I say
she looks around her

at the kids passing
at the groups of girls
talking by the stage
a few boys

swapping cards
by the far off wall
I could have gone
home to lunch

but I didn't want
to get soaked
going home
so I stayed

she says
I recall the time
she took me home
to her place

and her mother
was in a mood
and said little
but I did get to see

Yiska's room
but that was all
just the bed there empty
and her mother calling

where are you
and I want to kiss
her beside me
but can't

what can
a 14 year old boy do?

Skin deep in her cold green sea,
a dark and gnarled sky above.
On the curved horizon a side reads:
She believes in angels but she can't believe in love.

Insane in her reverie, wings sewn cross-stitch
down the spine of her back.
Rattling panes that the wind blows
are just a reminder of all that she lack.

Saw teeth across metal is music to her ear,
the shriek of the tea kettle full of insolent childhood fear.
Rude eyes shout; forget the devil, he has no bite.
She knows better though and she's not going down without a fight.

Her attempts to speak of the things she has heard
are the sounds of a cat who has sprung on a bird.
To spread her wings is to spread her legs
and embrace the power the darkness has made.

Oh, the suffering of heartache after hearts ache
while pulling the wings off of flies.
She can make you laugh, she's pretty smart eh,
but it isn't the same as being wise.

Every bit of her life, it occurs to her,
yes it does, it just occurs.
Now is it being selfish or just being blind,
if fooling people well is her way to unwind.